


Act Three

by amaruuk



Category: Forever Knight, The X-Files
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaruuk/pseuds/amaruuk
Summary: Dana has been kidnapped by LaCroix. Mulder turns to Nick Knight to save her before time runs out.In a harsh whisper, Mulder muttered, “Of all the stuff I’ve researched,vampireshad to be real.” Staring out the window, he did not speak for several moments. “Will he kill her?”“He may. You should be prepared for the possibility.”“He can’t—” Mulder broke off. He steadied himself. “Will you help me?”
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Nick Knight
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Act Three

The precinct station was strangely quiet in the last hour of night. The first hues of daybreak had yet to pale the eastern horizon, but none of the usual high-decibel traffic cluttered the corridors. Weaving through makeshift workstations to his desk, Nick Knight walked ahead of his partner. “Good night, Schanke,” he said firmly. “Good _bye_ , Schanke. Have a great vacation, Schanke. Get _out_ of here, Schanke!”

“And you’ll take care of the paperwork, right?” Bird-eyed with anticipation, Schanke loped after him. “You promised th—”

“I promised, and I will. Go _home!_ ”

“Yeah, okay.” Schanke grinned inanely. “I appreciate it, Nick. You know that.” Rubbing his hands together as though he were molding clay into snakes, he chortled, “Oh, boy. San Diego, here we come!”

As his partner turned round—making of the simple movement an impressively nimble dance step—Knight waved one last time and allowed himself a whole-body sigh of relief. Though he dearly loved the man, the last few days had been hell. Schanke had completely lost his ability to concentrate after their shift had begun, and, not surprisingly, had made no effort to regain it. Fearing for his partner’s life in this condition, Knight had remained on edge until they could call it a day. He was looking forward to the next two weeks almost as much as Schanke was.

“Oh, there you are, Knight.”

Covering a slight grimace of dread, Knight composed his features before greeting his superior. “Captain.”

“Don’t worry, Knight,” O’Hara assured him. “I only wanted to warn you that an old friend of yours is waiting at your desk.”

Knight murmured, “‘Old friend?’”

“FBI Agent from the States. Ran a check on him to be on the safe side. He’s kosher.”

“When did he arrive?”

“Half an hour ago. Says he came here straight from the airport. Looks like it, too.”

“Alone.” It was not a question.

“Yes. I told him you’d be here about now. I hope that was all right?”

Afraid that he must be radiating tension like a severed power line, Knight said lightly, “Thanks, Captain. For looking after him. Hm— There isn’t a lot of paperwork, but—”

“Bring it in Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?”

“See to your friend. If I need you, I’ll call.”

Knight exhaled audibly. He was more tired than he had realized. “Thanks.”

Giving him a tiny, knowing smile, O’Hara patted Knight’s shoulder. “Good morning, Detective Knight.”  
“Good morning, Captain.” As she walked away, Knight briefly closed his eyes. It was a mistake: Images, long banished to the darkest corners of his mind, sprang into the light of consciousness. _Human heat, burning him, surrounding him; living flesh, unwillingly yielding—_ Teeth clenched, Knight brought his thoughts back under control, and turned his attention to placing one foot in front of the other. As he rounded the corner to his work space, it occurred to him that San Diego would be a great place to be right now.

His visitor sat hunched forward at Knight’s desk, elbows on its surface, fingers delicately but determinedly shredding a styrofoam cup into a snowy pile. His dark hair was finger combed, his face dirty with stubble and lack of sleep, and his eyes, cast down, looked as though they could barely tolerate the weight of their lashes.

_“I don’t trust you, Nicholas.”_

_“Let her go, and I will—I will take him.”_

_“You swear it?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Let me hear the words, Nicholas.”_

_“I swear—that if you let her go unharmed and untouched, I will take him.”_

_“Now?”_

_“Yes.”_

“Hello, Mulder,” Knight said quietly.

The other man’s head came up; his fingers stilled. Though his features were carefully controlled, in his eyes Knight detected the anguish and desperation he had dreaded, expected to see. “Detective Knight,” he said without inflection. He reached for something inside his suit pocket; with a flick of the thumb he launched it in Knight’s direction.

Knight caught it in a palm. A glance told him exactly what it was and where it had come from. He pushed the cover of the matchbook up and read the few words scrawled inside. The handwriting was known to him. “You’ve lost your partner again,” he remarked.

“Just after midnight. In Montana—cattle mutilations.”

“I told you—” Knight cut himself off. Special Agent Fox Mulder had not come all this way for a lecture. “We’ll talk in the car.”

Mulder rose, scooping the remains of the styrofoam cup into his hand. He emptied them into the wastebasket under Knight’s desk, then picked up two overnight bags.

“You’re traveling heavier than usual.” Knight led the way to the door.

“One of these belongs to Scully.”

Outside, the early morning air was well past dew point, and sharply fresh. Seemingly unaffected by the temperature, Mulder strode alongside Knight, his arm brushing Knight’s elbow. There were few humans of whom Knight was so aware. This close, he could almost measure Mulder’s blood pressure and the rate of his heartbeat.

“There.” He pointed at the Cadillac, parked in one of the few openings reserved for full-size automobiles. Hurrying his pace, he left Mulder behind, wanting some distance between them.

_Needing the entirety of his will at his command at that moment, Knight yet helplessly savored the pleasure of Mulder’s body enclosing him, the delicious heat of his blood rushing frantically just below the surface of the skin. As the muscles in Knight’s groin tightened, he propelled his hips forward one last time. It was an impossible moment, one he could not hope to control. Head angled toward Mulder's neck, Knight arched over him, ignoring the man’s hiss of fear._

_He struck, sinking his fangs deeply into yielding tissue._

_LaCroix’s bellowed “ **Nicholas!** ” came to him as if from a vast distance. Mulder, rigid with shock, remained immobile while Knight took his fill, the sounds of his feeding inescapable amidst the silence of the theatre._

With one hand he unlocked the trunk and raised the lid; with the other, he gestured toward the cavernous space within. Fingering the smoothed edges of the key, worn down from years of use, he went to the driver’s door.

Mulder tossed the bags inside and slammed the trunk lid shut. By then Knight was waiting inside the car, his entire being thrumming. He tracked the other man’s approach in the rear view mirror, then the wing mirror. For an instant, no more, he entertained the notion of starting the engine and driving away, alone. It had been his sincere hope that he would never see Fox Mulder again; lacking sufficient warning, he was utterly unprepared to deal with him now.

_“Oh, Mulder, no,” Scully whispered._

_Her voice scarcely registered. One arm banding Mulder’s chest, the other grasping his hip, Knight thrust hard into the man’s body. He dared not spare a glance at LaCroix, whose dismayed amusement he sensed even from here, much less at the man’s horrified partner. As the instant built, Knight shoved Mulder further forward until he was bent almost in half over the back of the plushly upholstered chair to which he clung. Hooking an arm round Mulder's throat, Knight tore open the collar of the agent’s shirt._

_“Mulder!” Scully cried out. She struggled frantically, and uselessly, in LaCroix’s arms._

_Only then did Knight look up, predator’s teeth bared, his eyes fiercely yellow. LaCroix met his gaze, then nodded, once._

_Knight’s head spun. His system rebelled at this unnatural process. Only slowly, as cool fluid trickled into his belly, did he begin to recover from the trick played upon himself. Mulder gasped as Knight raised his mouth from his own wrist then abruptly withdrew from the agent’s body._

_Tidying himself as unobtrusively as possible, Knight left the man and stepped into the center aisle. Lazy-eyed, LaCroix still held Scully close against his chest. The woman’s face was filled with compassion; in that instant, her partner was her only concern. “You gave your word, LaCroix,” Knight said._

_LaCroix’s cherubic lips curved into a sweet smile. “You are endlessly inventive, Nicholas.” His smile grew wider. “You **cheated!** ”_

_“I said I would take him, and I did. Let her go.” As he spoke, he paced purposefully toward the stage. In truth, he lacked the strength to move with any haste._

_“Semantics. Shall we discuss the various definitions of ‘untouched’ and ‘unharmed’?”_

_Knight extended a hand to the end of the row of seats, bracing himself. “You gave your word,” he repeated._

_“So I did,” LaCroix agreed. And then he was gone, and with him, Scully._

_Mulder shouted his partner’s name. Stumbling as he straightened his clothing, he skipped-ran toward the proscenium. “Don’t hurt her, you bastard!”_

_Head raised, Knight closed his eyes, straining to track his creator’s whereabouts. **Not far.** He spun, then displaced to the spot he hoped he might yet catch up with LaCroix._

__

__

_In the shadows at the foot of a wide window, he spied her. Making a soft, pained sound, she lay on the floor, a hand pressed tightly to her throat. She shrank back against the wall as Knight landed before her._

_Soft laughter came from seemingly nowhere. A sharp gust of frozen air blasted inward from the open window. Suspended in the darkness without, LaCroix stared coldly in at him. “This time, Nicholas. And only for you.” As insubstantial as the Cheshire Cat, LaCroix disappeared._

_“Mulder,” Knight called, “In here!” He knelt beside the woman. Moaning under her breath, she attempted to draw away from him._

_Agent Scully,” he said evenly, “I won’t hurt you.”_

_“Scully!”_

_“Here, Mulder!” she cried out. Into the small room Mulder dashed, pinpointing his partner at once._

__

__

_“Scully.” He breathed her name like a benediction. A foot away, he dropped to one knee and stretched out a hand. “Oh, Scully, what did he—?”_

_“I’m all right,” she said._

_“Your neck—?”_

_Disgust underscoring each word, she said, “He licked me!”_

_“Let me see,” Knight ordered. She flinched at his touch. With Mulder there, however, she did not resist him. Knight’s fingers shifted her hand, lifting copper strands out of the way. He turned her head to expose the throat. The skin was clean and unbroken._

_Rocking back on his heels, he pronounced wearily, “She’ll be fine.”_

“You were in Montana,” Knight prompted, reversing the Cadillac from the parking space.

“Last couple of days.” Mulder turned to look at him. “Call supposedly came from the local officials. There was some concern that the ranchers’ families might be in danger. We spoke to a couple of them who agreed there were rumors, but they hadn't had any trouble. Another encouraged us to stay on his land overnight.”

“You left her alone at some point?”

“Call of nature.” Mulder screwed up his face in self-disgust. “Couldn’t’ve been gone more than five minutes. When I came back, she wasn’t there. The matchbook from The Raven was on the seat. I never heard a thing.”

“What on earth were you—?”

“Look, I know you warned me. But it happened because of what you did to her. She was the one who insisted we take this case. Wanted to prove to me once and for all that there’s nothing behind cattle mutilations that can’t be explained.”

“You thought I should do it at the time.” Knight nosed the car out onto the street and slowly entered the flow of traffic. In the east, night retreated before the stolid press of day.

“It bothered her,” Mulder said tersely. “I thought if you took the memory of what she had seen away— If she could—” With a groan, he slumped back against the seat. “Christ, Nick.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t blame you for anything. You saved our lives. Even if you had to use—” His voice dropped a note. “—unorthodox methods.”

_“What you did to him,” Scully spoke clinically. “Is there any chance you may have transmitted your—condition?”_

_“It doesn’t work that way.” With some effort, Knight managed to meet her gaze. “But certainly he should see a doctor.”_

_“Scully’s a doctor,” Mulder said uncomfortably. “And she’s already seen more than she ever wanted to.”_

_“Mulder—”_

_“It’s okay, Scully. Better you than Skinner.”_

“If there was anything else I could have done, I would have,” Knight said. “Unfortunately, LaCroix is strong—and he was fond of his LA children.”

“‘Children.’” Mulder gave a snort. “You talk about that guy like he’s not insane.”

“He is not human. It does no good for you to judge him by your standards.”

To Knight's acute hearing, there came a distinct sound of teeth grinding together. “You’re defending a madman,” Mulder said.

“I told you he would not give up.” Knight slammed a foot on the brake, a split second from entering an intersection against the light. The driver of the vehicle he had almost struck shouted something through a closed window. He had no difficulty reading her lips.

“Why haven’t you stopped him? Why haven’t you killed him?”

The beginnings of a headache coiled behind Knight’s eyes. “I have tried. Doesn’t seem to take with him.”

“Because he’s so powerful? Or because he created _you_?”

“I don’t know,” Knight replied patiently. “I haven't had a lot of opportunity to experiment.”

In a harsh whisper, Mulder muttered, “Of all the stuff I’ve researched, _vampires_ had to be real.” Staring out the window, he did not speak for several moments. “Will he kill her?”

“He may. You should be prepared for the possibility.”

“He can’t—” Mulder broke off. He steadied himself. “Will you help me?”

“Of course. But there’s nothing we can do until—” The soft trill of Knight’s cellular phone cut into his words. Snaking a hand into his pocket, he tugged the unit out and pressed the button to receive. “Knight.” He listened to the voice at the other end, asked a very few questions, then disconnected. “That was Natalie Lambert, our Medical Examiner.”

“She’s found a body.”

Even to his preternatural senses, Mulder's voice was almost inaudible. Knight said, “And it fits the description of your partner.”

“ID?”

“None.”

“Cause of death?”

“Exsanguination.”

“Due to?” The question was offered perforce; there was nothing of curiosity in it.

“Stabbing and incise wounds. But Natalie found two small punctures in the throat.”

“Let me guess,” Mulder said calmly. “A vampire.”

“She thinks so.” At that Mulder let out a half-laugh of disbelief; Knight looked at him questioningly. “What?”

“Your ME _knows_ about you?”

“For a long time,” Knight said ruefully. He guessed Mulder's thoughts, his reaction to Natalie's news suggesting that he did not believe her patient to be his partner. And he was wise, Knight decided, to do so: LaCroix could be trusted—to a degree—to behave predictably; tormenting Mulder was within that compass. Regrettably, caprice was also part of his nature, and by that nature, there could be no safe prediction of what he would or would not do. compass. Regrettably, caprice was also part of his nature, and by that nature, there could be no safe prediction of what he would or would not do.

A short while later, the Cadillac came to a stop in front of the coroner’s office. Knight stepped onto the pavement, keeping an eye on the horizon. He was running out of darkness.

Inside, they were greeted by Natalie Lambert’s assistant, a pleasant young man in his thirties. On his way home, he gave her a quick call to verify their status, pointed them in the direction of her door, and left.

Natalie stepped from behind her desk as Knight led Mulder into the examination room which doubled as her office. “Nat,” Knight greeted. “This is Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. I’m afraid you may have found his partner.”

Her eyes, deceptively soft and warmly brown, widened. “FBI? Why—?”

“He had a run-in with LaCroix. About a year ago.”

“And you’re still alive,” Natalie said, impressed. “Has your partner had a hysterectomy, Agent Mulder?”

“A—? No. That is, I’m pretty sure—”

“This woman has. She’s in her early forties. Five-foot-one; dyed copper-colored hair—and that was done within the last few days. Could that be your partner?”

Standing in the center of the room, Mulder made a soft, unintelligible sound.

Natalie said, “What was that, Agent Mulder?”

“You’re sure? I mean—”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“Sorry. Of course you are.” Bending slightly forward, he petitioned, “Can I see her?”

“She's been dead for about eight hours. Do you know what to expect?”

“Better than most. Even carry my own mentholatum.”

Seeing no humor in Mulder’s face, Natalie briefly considered his request before waving him toward the door. “Through here.”

Knight trailed behind, remaining close to the other man. He had seen the color leave his face at Natalie’s first words; had seen it return almost as quickly upon hearing that the victim was unlikely his partner.

Natalie brought the body out of the refrigerator. She folded back the sheet to reveal the woman’s face.

“That’s not her.” Mulder looked up at Knight. “But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that there's a resemblance.” Turning back to Natalie, he asked, “May I use a pair of gloves?”

She passed the cardboard container across the table. “Help yourself.”

He tugged the thin, latex sheaths over each hand. “Thank you.” Drawing the sheet downward, he revealed the full extent of the woman’s wounds. The body had already been thoroughly washed, so that each cut and slash, undefined by blood, formed a long, dark, elliptical pocket in the fair skin. “What can you tell us about the victim’s background?”

“Virtually nothing at this point. She was found in a hotel room on the west side; not a dive. Anonymous phone call. No ID. The toxicology isn’t complete, but drugs don’t appear to be a factor. There were no signs of resistance, and nobody heard anything.”

Mulder picked up a lifeless hand and inspected it closely. “No defense wounds?”

“None. She didn’t die of these injuries, Agent Mulder.”

He brought the sheet back up to the woman’s shoulders, then hunched forward to study her neck. A long but shallow gash nearly concealed the real source of her death. Splaying two fingers on either side of the obscured puncture marks, he asked, “You’ve seen this sort of thing before?”

Natalie shot a sidelong glance at Knight before answering. “Once or twice.”

“And you believe it’s the result of a vampire attack?” He stood up and draped the sheet entirely over the pale form Methodically, he stripped the gloves off his hands. His fingers were trembling.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Natalie began to push the cart back toward the cooler. Knight stepped in front of her and opened the door. He helped her slide the tray inside.

“Is it LaCroix’s bite pattern?”

“I believe so. But I haven’t had a chance to verify that.” Peeling the gloves off her own hands, she said with a hint of asperity, “Would either of you like to tell me what’s going on?”

“LaCroix kidnapped his partner,” Knight said. “Revenge for his involvement in the deaths of some of his people a year and a bit ago.”

“You killed them?” Natalie said, surprised.

“No. He thinks I did.”

She was reflectively quiet for a moment. “And this woman’s death. You believe her murder has something to do with your partner’s kidnapping?”

“He knew you’d determine her true cause of death. He also knew that you’d contact me the moment you did,” Knight explained. “Add to that the physical characteristics, and it’s hard to imagine otherwise.”

“My God, Nick!” Natalie exclaimed softly. “When are you going to do something about that maniac?!”

If Knight had not been so tired, he might have smiled. “Tell me how first. Let’s go, Mulder. I need to get home.”

They walked into Knight’s apartment just as the first hazy rays of morning were slanting across the city. Standing well back from his windows, Knight spent a moment obliquely observing the brilliance that was forever denied him. It was with regret that he activated the blinds.

As darkness crept into each corner, Knight remembered his guest and cast about to see where he had gotten off to. He found him in front of the open refrigerator, contemplating the select contents. “See anything you like?” Knight asked.

“What is that?”

“Cow blood.”

“But you prefer the human kind, right?” Mulder took a bottle off the rack and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” Wrenching the cork off the top, Knight gestured toward the cupboards. “There’s coffee, corn flakes, a few canned things.”

“Really?”

Strolling into the living room, Knight said, “Limited, but edible.” He downed half the bottle in a single, long swallow. He tried not to listen as Mulder pulled out drawers and opened cupboard doors. There came the sound of water running, of the pot scraping the electrical element on the stove, cereal spilling into a bowl. Even with his back turned, he knew precisely where Mulder was at every second.

When Mulder came into the living room and flopped down on the sofa, Knight brought the bottle to his mouth, closed his eyes, and drank until he was pulling on air. Back in the kitchen, he collected another bottle. The hunger was building within him. 

LaCroix was a cunning bastard.

Head resting against the back of the sofa, legs sprawled wide, Mulder stirred the contents of his bowl. He raised his head at the last possible moment to meet the spoon, chewed without enthusiasm, then let his head fall back against the cushion. “You didn’t have any milk,” he informed Knight. “Had to use powdered creamer and water. Tastes like—”

“Sorry.”

“Why do you have,” Mulder raised the bowl in lieu of elaboration, “this kind of stuff, anyway?”

“Sometimes Natalie stops by.”

“Known her long?”

“A few years now. She’s a good friend.”

“She must be. To cover for you like this.”

Stepping over Mulder’s legs, Knight sat down next to him. “Cover for me?” He rocked the bottle in a circular motion, listening to the irresistible swirl of fluid within.

“If she wanted LaCroix taken care of, she’d report the truth. But she won’t, will she? She’ll say that that woman died of blood loss resulting from multiple stab and cutting wounds. To protect you.”

Mulder’s heart was beating fast; his face was a little flushed; his body temperature was rising. Knight said, “What would you suggest? That she return a cause of death of exsanguination owing to attack by vampire? That she turn me in to prove vampires exist? How, Agent Mulder, will that ‘take care of’ LaCroix? Or are you suggesting something else?”

“You don’t deny it, do you?” The challenge in Mulder's words was reflected in his angry hazel eyes. “That she’s protecting you?”

Leaning nearer, Knight said, “No. I don’t.”

Transfixed, Mulder fell silent. _Living flesh, unwillingly yielding—_ At once, Knight stood up, taking his bottles with him. “I’m going upstairs to bed. I recommend you get some rest, too.” On the way he finished the second bottle and dropped it into the waste can. His foot was on the bottom-most step of the stair when Mulder said with some force, “You saw what it said inside the matchbook.”

“‘Twenty-four hours.’ Which, from what you told me, gives us until midnight tonight.”

“So you’re just going to climb inside your coffin and get a little shut-eye?”

Knight hesitated. “Until LaCroix gives us something to act on, we can do nothing.”

Setting the bowl, still more than half full, on the edge of the lamp table, Mulder brought himself upright. “What about visiting the place where your pal spends his days? He can’t do anything to her when the sun’s up, can he?”

“Agent Mulder,” Knight said coolly, “you’re mixing fact with fairy tale. LaCroix maintains no fixed abode. None of us knows the full extent of his abilities. And I have this little problem with sunlight.” Mulder’s fear and guilt were as palpable as the warmth of his blood and the softness of the skin at his throat. Knight attempted to moderate his tone of voice. “Get some sleep. Your Agent Scully will be grateful if you have all of your wits and strength about you when the time comes.”

Mulder raked his fingers through his hair. “If she’s still alive.”

“LaCroix knows that you will suffer much more if she is,” Knight reminded him.

_The mortal lay beneath him, head thrown back, breath coming in short gasps. His long fingers bit into Knight’s buttocks, drawing him inside harder and deeper with each deliberate movement. Lying like this, his throat was exposed, vulnerable. Perfectly vulnerable. Thrashing, he cried out Knight’s name, begging him to take him, begging him to—_

“Nick, damn it, wake—!”

Erupting out of dream into reality, Knight was galvanized by an unfamiliar hand upon his shoulder, roughly shaking him. Conscious thought did not cause him to grab the other man, spin him round, and throw him onto the mattress. Nor did it dictate that he pounce upon him like a cat its prey, stunning him into immobility. Only the shocked look on Mulder’s face and the gasped “No!” brought him to full awareness before he could complete the action set in motion by the vampire’s instinct.

“You idiot,” he snarled. He flung himself off Mulder’s rigid form, backed off the bed, and unsteadily took to his feet. “Don’t ever wake me like that.”

For a moment Mulder seemed incapable of speech. Knight suspected he was only now recognizing all that might have happened. “Sorry,” Knight apologized, and stretched out a hand to help him up. To his surprise, Mulder took it.

“Your ME called,” Mulder explained, his pallor more expressive than his tone of voice. “Scully was brought in a few minutes ago.”

“She—” Mulder’s eerie composure struck him like a blow. “She’s dead?”

“Your ME thinks so.”

Suddenly Knight understood. “Another ringer?”

Leading the way to the stairs, Mulder said firmly, “It has to be. Except that this one has all of Scully’s personal effects, right down to her little black pumps. Even the cross she wears around her neck.”

“Mulder—”

“Don’t say anything, Nick. Not until I’ve seen her.”

“Mulder, you’ll have to drive. It’s still daylight.”

The trunk lid smoothly and soundlessly glided upward. Squinting out with caution, Knight was reassured to see the sun-free interior of the parking garage that was attached to the coroner’s building. Holding the lid up, Mulder said sotto voce, “Parkay?” Beneath the stillness of his features, he was tense and pale. Knight could guess something of what that controlled facade disguised.

“What’d you hit?” he asked, clambering onto the concrete floor.

“Bumped. One of those mini bollards protecting the security booth. Do you know how big the fenders on this thing are?”

“ _I_ do, yes.” Knight strode to the double-glass doors which gave access to the building proper. He flagged Mulder in front of him. “Any problem with the guard?”

“He remembered me from this morning.”

“It’s _still_ morning,” Knight reminded him. His disrupted sleep—and the intensity of the dream from which he had been torn—had left him off-balance and out of sorts.

“Only for a few more minutes. That way?” Mulder indicated a corridor that must have been familiar to him.

“Yes.”

Dr. Lambert was waiting for them. She glanced from Mulder to Knight; Knight answered her unspoken question with an almost imperceptible nod. She accepted that, but he could see that she held reservations. “Sorry to meet you again so soon under these circumstances, Agent Mulder.”

“Thanks for calling so promptly.” He motioned toward the cooler. “Is it the same MO?”

“No.” Natalie handed him a clipboard upon which was fixed the victim’s preliminary report. “She walked in front of a bus. There was no time for the driver to stop. Witnesses said she acted as though she were in a trance.”

Flipping through the pages, Mulder expressed nothing of what he was thinking or feeling. “I’d like to see her.”

“She’s a mess,” Natalie said bluntly.

“Does anything remain of her face?”

“Not much. She’s badly lacerated, bones broken, skin abraded.” She eyed him measuringly. “Just be prepared.”

Unlike the first victim, this one had yet to be cleaned up. She lay on the autopsy table clothed in the remains of suit jacket and trousers. Blood and grime liberally smeared the fabric. Her legs, encased in shredded nylons exhibited impact wounds both from the bus and the road.

Frowning as he took in the woman’s appearance, Knight suffered a jolt of recognition. The face was badly damaged, as Natalie had warned, but its shape and the dirty copper hair surrounding it—

“Help me lift her shoulders,” Mulder said. Already gloved, he was raising the woman’s torso as he spoke.

Knight responded at once, supporting the limp form while Mulder probed beneath the woman’s hair and collar at the nape of her neck.

“Nick—” Natalie began.

“It’s okay, Doctor Lambert.” With exceptional gentleness, Mulder laid the woman back down. “It isn’t Scully.”

“How can you be so sure, Agent Mulder?” Natalie asked.

“This woman has no scar at the base of her cervical vertebrae. Scully does.” He tossed the gloves into the biohazard waste bin. “LaCroix set this up just for us, didn’t he, Nick?”

“Looks that way.”

Nodding to himself, Mulder desolately regarded the victim’s corpse once more. “May I have Scully’s things, Doctor Lambert?”

“Natalie.” She drew a face. “I’ve already bagged her jewelry and purse.” Appealing to Knight, she said, “There are bound to be questions. For example, why were the clothing and possessions of another woman found on this victim?”

Mulder wiped a hand across his stubbled jaw. Talcum residue from the inside of the glove left a small grey streak just below his chin. “Tell them the truth: So that you’d call us. So that we’d know that Scully could be next.”

“Don’t be stupid. That would put Nick—”

“Sign it out to Mulder as borrowed evidence,” Knight suggested. “Courtesy exchange.”

Natalie’s left brow flew up. “‘Courtesy exchange.’ Since when do—?” Knight’s expression begged an early end to her objection. She sighed. “All right.”

“Keep the clothes,” Mulder said. “I don’t think she’ll want them back anyway.”

“As you wish.”

“Who has the case?” Knight asked.

“Washburn. The one this morning, too. Dental and fingerprint studies are in the works on both of them. He noted the physical similarities, but I don’t think he’s made a connection.” She added, “Why should he?”

As they started out of the frigid room, Knight asked, “Have you turned up anything about the first victim?”

Taking two bulging plastic bags, one large, the other small, off the edge of her desk, Natalie replied, “Tentative ID. Didn’t want to call you with it until I knew for sure.”

Knight held the door open as they walked out into the corridor. “Who do you think she is?”

“Cordelia Krantz. Her co-worker, who apparently knows her fairly well—she’ll be here in a little while to provide positive identification—says she’s a solid citizen,” Natalie shrugged, “with something of a dark side.”

“Gets involved with the wrong kind of people?” Mulder asked.

“On a regular basis.” Handing the two bags to Mulder, Natalie regarded both men critically. “Go home. I’ll call you when I have something useful. And, Agent Mulder—”

Mulder was staring at Scully's effects, neatly labeled and bagged.

“Agent Mulder?”

He looked up at her blankly. “I'm sorry—what?”

“I apologize for calling you. I wish I could’ve known.”

“You couldn’t.” He summoned a morose smile. “But I really hope that I don’t hear from you again.”

“I understand.” Placing a hand on Knight’s arm, she said, “Get some rest.”

The two men stepped out of the elevator and into Knight's loft apartment. With the emphasis of repetition, Mulder said, “But what have we learned? You know and I know that those two women were killed because of us. _Why?_ ”

Knight stepped round him and went into the kitchen. “We don’t have enough information. I agree with you that something about those two women is meant to lead us to LaCroix, and presumably, your partner. But until we know _what_ , we’re spinning our wheels.”

Mulder shadowed him as Knight took out a bottle of blood, uncorked it, and began to drink. “There must be something—”

“LaCroix would love for you to make a mistake, Agent Mulder.” Using his sleeve, Knight wiped his mouth clean. He could sense Mulder’s agitation; smell the staleness of clothing worn too long—as well as his own underlying, unique scent; count the weary respirations whispering through his lungs; and track the relative steadiness of his pulse. “It won’t be as easy as the last time.”

Mulder took the bottle out of his hand and raised the narrow opening to his nostrils. “You mean, fucking me won’t be enough?” His face crinkled expressively at the odor.

Snatching the bottle back, Knight gave him a long, unreadable look. He started toward the stairs. “You were lucky it was enough the last time.”

He was on the landing when Mulder called softly, “Mind if I watch tv?”

It was on the tip of Knight’s tongue to tell him that the time would be better spent in sleep. Instead he replied gruffly, “Keep the volume down.”

_It had been a long time since he had allowed another man to enter him. The warmth all down his back; the soft, curling hair at his buttocks; the insistent hardness as it pressed inward—these were pleasures he had chosen to eschew. Urged to shift to one side, he welcomed the hand that encircled his erection. Palm and fingers formed a living sheath, riding up and down the length of him, knowing where to grip tight, where not to crowd. Inside him, the other's rhythm increased, becoming demanding and rough. His mouth, wet and hot, fed along Knight’s throat, the edge of sharp teeth leaving small welts, raising a rash of gooseflesh that covered his nakedness from scalp to heel. Infected by his urgency, Knight sensed the upwelling of his need, so like but unlike his partner’s. A wrist was pressed against his lips. He licked it, preparing the skin to receive a different kind of penetration. His fangs lengthened beneath his lips, and he opened his mouth—_

There was _another_. Knight leapt from the bed, casting off the shroud of sleep with disorienting abruptness. Taking no time to consider what he might find, he displaced downstairs. Landing on bare feet near the living room, he found Mulder stretched out on the sofa, suit jacket off, collar and cuffs undone. Straddling him was Janette, and between her hands she held Mulder’s head turned to one side, exposing the long line of his throat.

“Leave him alone, Janette,” Knight said shortly.

“Must I, Nicholas?” She brushed her lips along the curve of Mulder’s jaw.

“That’s not what you came for.” Knight snagged Mulder's jacket off the chair and tossed it onto the back of the sofa.

“He’s very pretty,” Janette noted wistfully.

“He would taste awful,” Knight assured her, slumping into the chair. “Had garlic for lunch.”

Pouting, Janette gracefully rose. “A pity.”

Released both physically and mentally, Mulder stumbled to put distance between them. The tv was on in the background with the sound off. He went to stand in front of it. His face was pale and his eyes wider than usual, but he exhibited no other ill effects. Knight had awakened just in time.

Eyes glinting, Janette also watched the mortal. “You have not done him any favors, Nicholas.”

“Let me decide that,” Knight began. He caught himself. Sleep clung to him like cobwebs; it was difficult to think. “What do you mean?”

“LaCroix has asked me to tell you that the clock is running. If you do not find him and this one’s friend by midnight, _she_ will become his third victim.”

Bitterly, Mulder asked, “Don’t suppose he told you _where_ we should look?”

Smiling, Janette walked slowly toward him. “He said he has given you two important clues already.”

“Janette, do you know where he is holding Mulder’s partner?”

Standing his ground nervously, Mulder did not move when the woman touched a finger to his mouth. His bottom lip, especially, seemed to captivate her. “No, Nicholas, I do not. Nor do I want to.”

“She’s an FBI agent. Did you know that? Do you realize how dangerous this game of his could become? For you and me? For all of us here?”

“You know LaCroix, Nicholas. He will do as he pleases.”

As her fingertip floated downward from Mulder’s chin to the bottom of his sternum, he said huskily, “Can you tell us what the clues mean?”

Prettily, she demurred, “I do not even know what the clues are.” Spreading her hand wide upon Mulder’s chest, she commenced an hypnotic caress. Mulder flicked a beseeching look in Knight’s direction.

“Janette—”

“Oh, all right!” she said with exasperation. She stalked across the room to her shawl, heavy and black, which lay where she had flung it across the kitchen table. She took it up and began to arrange it over her head and shoulders. “He did ask me to give you a final clue.”

“What is it?” Mulder alerted, hope bringing animation to his face.

With bored hauteur, she recited, “‘Beneath the words, she lies.’”

Knight frowned. Feeling Mulder’s attention shift toward him, he schooled his features to neutrality.

“Tell him,” Mulder said slowly, “that if he hurts her, I’ll see that he regrets it.”

Making a soft clicking sound, she tidied her gloves. “You play right into his hands.” Completely shrouded in the densely woven shawl which reached down to the soles of her boots, she walked toward the door, her heels clicking. Knight anticipated her.

“Through here?” he asked, amused.

“I have a car waiting.” She stood on tiptoe and placed a kiss on Knight’s cheek. “Take care, Nicholas,” she said seriously. “LaCroix is very angry.”

“Never would’ve guessed.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s early yet. Be careful.”

“Of course.”

He slid the elevator door closed; the cab began to move downward. Running a hand across the scorch mark left by the heat of a long-ago fire, Knight remarked, “This is where I tried to kill him before.” He glanced up to be sure that Mulder was listening. Absently rubbing his chest, he stood near the tv, images off the screen limning his features with random flickerings of light and dark. “There was nothing left of him, Agent Mulder. Nothing.”

“Maybe he pulled the old booga-booga on you too.”

“I don't think so.”

“That last clue—does that mean he’s buried Scully alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which words? An inscription on a headstone?”

“Maybe. And maybe he’s left her under a billboard somewhere. Did you get any rest?”

Mulder’s shoulders slumped. “Some. How did your friend get here? It’s still daylight, isn’t it?”

“Her shawl was wet; if it’s raining, there must be heavy cloud cover. And she has an accommodating chauffeur.” Scratching the new growth on his chin, Knight said, “She was giving us as much time as possible.”

“It’s almost four.” Mulder’s lips flattened into a frustrated line. “Shouldn’t your ME have something by now?”

“When she does, she will call us. Natalie is well aware of the urgency of the situation.” Knight's eyes went to the unoccupied sofa. At the moment his bed seemed a very long way away. A few footsteps later, he sank into soft cushions, assuring himself he would remain there for only a couple of minutes. Mulder, all barely contained nervous energy, fished a pen and a small notepad from his pocket and began to scribble furiously.

The phone rang some time later. Knight’s lashes rose just enough for him to observe the other man hovering over the answering machine. The volume was turned down; Mulder cocked his head to one side as he listened. His expression told Knight that the caller’s information was useful but not imperative; had he wanted to, Knight could have listened himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and drifted off again.

For the next forty-five minutes, he slipped in and out of a much-needed slumber, always at the back of his mind intensely aware that an unpleasant confrontation awaited him before the end of this day. Mulder made notes, paced, spoke in hushed tones on the phone, scribbled, and circled the room again. More than once Knight surfaced to find himself the object of Mulder's broodingly speculative hazel stare. And more than once he pretended merely to stir and immediately fall back asleep.

It was nearly five when Knight pulled himself up and yawned. “What do you have?”

“Not much. The second victim has been identified by her husband. Susan Swallin. She never made it to work this morning. The only odd thing to turn up was a small rubbery cap, the kind used on personal stereo earphones. Dr. Lambert suspects that that was just road debris collected with the rest of the evidence.” He tapped his pen against the pad of paper. “I’ve written down everything I can think of. Maybe something will register when you look at it. If those two women were meant to be clues, then something’s got to be missing!”

“You don’t know how LaCroix’s mind works, Mulder.”

“And you do?”

“Not well enough. For which I’m grateful.” Knight forced himself to his feet. “Give me fifteen minutes. Have you eaten anything?”

Mulder melted into the cushions. “You told your vampire lady-friend that I’d had garlic.”

“She knew I was lying,” Knight said. “Vampires can smell garlic miles away.”

“How much of that stuff is true?” Mulder asked, shaking his head. “You know: the garlic, crucifixes, holy water?”

“Most of it’s overrated. Some of it can slow us down; none of it can kill us outright.” Knight walked purposefully toward the staircase. “If you want to destroy a vampire, Agent Mulder, you must use fire, a stake through the heart, or a very sharp blade to remove the head.”

“Is that true for LaCroix, too?”

The scorched door stood as mocking testimony to LaCroix’s immortality. “No.”

“No,” Mulder repeated defeatedly. Then from somewhere he dredged up a brittle smile. “I’ll bet Elvis is one of you guys, too. Am I right?”

Admiring Mulder very much at that moment, Knight said, gently, “Sorry, Agent Mulder. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

The late autumn sun was gone. For four hours Mulder, Knight, and Doctor Lambert had been poring over the police reports regarding the deaths of the two women. Every detail was remarked upon, discussed, reviewed, and discussed again. Officially, the first woman had been killed by an unsavory acquaintance; the second, obviously, had walked in front of a bus. Only Mulder, Knight, and Lambert knew how and why they had really died—at least in part. And it was not the how they needed to answer so much as the why. On the surface, the women had been killed because they resembled, or were made to resemble, Agent Dana Scully. That much was obvious. The first woman’s corpse had told them two things: She looked like Scully and she had been killed by a vampire. The second woman might have walked under the bus for any number of reasons—but she had done so only because LaCroix had directed her to. Had it not been for the effects discovered on her body, all of which had belonged to Agent Scully, no connection would have been made. But her death told them that LaCroix wanted to be absolutely certain that they understood. Scully was not yet dead, but she could have been. So far, his choice of victims explained nothing.

As Knight read through the accident report for the fourth time, Mulder studied the information regarding Cordelia Krantz. Scully’s gold cross dangled on its delicate chain, suspended from his fingers. The light glanced off it, catching Knight’s attention again and again. He found himself staring at it mesmerized, torn between wanting to touch it and fling it as far away as possible.

Natalie asked one of the night orderlies to pick up some dinner for them just after ten. When it arrived, she insisted that Mulder eat something, if only a few bites. He did so, perfunctorily. “We can't give up,” she said firmly. “There must be _something_ we're missing.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said morosely. “But what have we learned about these two women that has told us categorically where to find LaCroix?”

“They died in two different places,” Knight pointed out, “which would seem to indicate that the hotel where Krantz was murdered is of no more importance than the street on which Swallin died.”

“The Belgium Hotel on Montague, and Cushing Street,” Natalie mumbled around her cheeseburger.

“The names mean nothing?” Mulder asked. He looked from Natalie, who shook her head, to Knight, who agreed, “Nor to me.”

“What about the room where Krantz was found? Did it have a name?”

“Numbered rooms only.” Knight wished he could escape the smell of their meal. “Combining their names doesn’t seem to result in anything significant.”

“Krantz-Swallin; Swallin-Krantz.” Mulder shoved a french fry into his mouth. “We could make anagrams forever. But in which combinations? Cordelia Krantz, Susan Swallin, or Cordelia Krantz Susan Swallin, all run together? Do we have to include their middle names, their maiden names, their mothers' maiden—”

“Whatever it is, it will be obvious,” Knight said bleakly. “LaCroix knows we'll overlook the obvious. It’s a human failing.”

“But you’re no longer human,” Mulder pointed out. “He's expecting you to work it out.”

“Don't be too sure about that.” Knight took to his feet. The odor was nauseating.

Face in hands, Mulder mumbled, “Cordelia was the daughter of Lear. Susan—there are a million Susans.”

“Mulder,” Natalie murmured. “His last clue. Have you been able to come up with anything for that?”

“‘Beneath the words, she lies.’” The phrase seemed to fascinate as much as unsettle him. He studied the notepad briefly, then rubbed his eyes. “What kind of words? A sign? A library?” The muscles in his jaws clenched tight. “A cemetery marker?”

“Words are also spoken,” Natalie said thoughtfully.

“Yeeaah—” He sat up a little straighter. “And to lie beneath them, you'd have to be where? In the basement of a theatre? A recording studio? A radio sta—?”

Knight's head swung round. At the same instant, the door opened and a young police officer carrying a small plastic evidence bag stepped tentatively inside. “Doctor Lambert? I was told I’d find you here.”

“Yes?” Natalie wiped her mouth on a paper napkin and crossed the room to greet him. “What is that?”

“A woman dropped it off at our station. She said her son picked it up at the accident site downtown this morning. You know, where that young woman was hit by the bus?”

Lifting the packet to the light, Natalie said, “It’s a personal stereo. Ah—” She nodded to herself. “The son took it, is that right?”

“She said she chewed him out,” the officer explained. “And she did make him come with her to apologize.”

“When was that turned in?” Mulder asked, tucking Scully’s necklace into his jacket pocket as he advanced on quiet feet.

“This afternoon, about four.” The young man watched him skittishly. “My—I was asked to drop it off on my way home.”

“May I?” Mulder asked with exaggerated civility. At Natalie’s nod, he took the packet out of her hands. He went to the counter bearing the carton of protective gloves.

The officer’s nametag was prominently displayed. “Thanks, Ron,” Knight said, ingratiatingly. He moved nearer to establish direct eye contact. “This may be the breakthrough we’ve been hoping for. But, I'm curious—why did you bring it to Doctor Lambert rather than take it to the detectives on the case?”

The man’s mouth opened and closed. Something seemed to worry him. “I—was told to.”

“By who?” Knight asked reasonably.

“By—by—” His face suddenly cleared. “Inspector LaCroix. He said—”

“What,” Knight whispered, standing very close to the confused messenger, “did he say?”

“To bring it by after work.”

Knight glanced back at the others; Natalie and Mulder were motionlessly attentive. “Ron,” Knight said gently. “What time is it?”

The man blinked. “Time—?” He raised his wrist. It was bare, but a faint tan line the width of a watchband encircled it. “I— Must be about six. My shift ends at five thirty.”

“A little later than—” Natalie waved Mulder to silence. She went to the young officer and took him by the arm. Giving him a kindly smile, she said, “We’re very grateful. It's been a hectic night for all of us.”

The officer shifted uncertainly. “Look, I—”

“It's all right.” Natalie considerately guided him to the door. “If we have any questions, someone in my office or the detective on the case will call.” She pushed the door open, the courtesy of the gesture serving to mitigate the implicit dismissal. With a last, frightened search of their faces, he dove past her. The hurried sound of his footsteps echoed back at them until Natalie firmly pulled the door shut. She strode back into the room. “‘Inspector LaCroix.’ There's a terrifying thought.”

Mulder was delicately probing the plastic case of the small device. The empty evidence packet lay on the table beside his elbow. “It’s a radio, not a cassette player.” Using a thumb to turn up the volume, he held the uncapped earphone near his ear. “Talk show.”

Inwardly preparing himself, Knight said, “Let me hear it.” After listening for only a few seconds, he handed the earpiece back to Mulder. “Check the tuner. Could it have been jarred in the accident?”

Mulder tried to work the serrated wheel; it would not budge. “I could probably force it. But it feels like it’s glued in place.”

“His radio station?” Natalie said sharply.

“Whose?” Mulder said. “Not—?”

Unhappily, Knight nodded, “Yes. The first woman—her name was Cordelia Krantz, right? Does she have a middle name?”

Natalie shuffled through the pile of papers until she came to the one she wanted. “Edith.”

“Cordelia Edith Krantz. Was Krantz her maiden name?”

“The report said she wasn’t married.” Natalie scanned the sheets, a line forming between her eyes. “No, wait— She was divorced. It must be—Here it is. Runyon.” Her voice hardened, and she repeated, “Maiden name, Runyon.”

“Cordelia Edith Runyon Krantz. CERK. Those are his call letters.”

“A radio station,” Mulder said disbelievingly. “That misanthropic maniac has a radio station!?”

“‘Beneath the words, she lies,’” Knight quoted. “It’s the first place I should have thought of, but—”

“It was too obvious.”

“Yes,” Knight murmured, accepting without protest the reproach in Mulder’s voice. It was justified. There was no point in attempting to explain that LaCroix was predictable only in his hatred of mortals. The clock on the wall, with quartz precision, read ten after eleven. “We’ve got to hurry.”

“What do you want me to do?” Natalie asked.

“Keep your cell phone with you. We may need your help.”

She caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Anything, Nick.”

“It might be.”

In the car, Mulder sat with hands clenched, head bent forward, a lightning rod under blackening skies. “Can we get there in time?”

“It’ll be close.”

“Then drive faster.”

“He wants us there, Mulder.”

“And if we don’t make it?”

“We will.”

Ten minutes later, as the Cadillac raced down the road, a siren went off behind them.

“Ignore it,” Mulder commanded.

“Can’t. I don’t have time to shake ‘em—and we don’t want to lead anyone where we’re going.” Knight glided the car to the curb. In his wing mirror, he watched the traffic patrolman approach his window. Ready with badge in hand, he announced curtly, “Following a lead.”

“Detective Knight.” The officer gestured vaguely at Knight’s car. “Your car’s unmarked. Don’t you have a light?”

His smile a gash in the darkness, Knight nodded toward the dash. “Broken. Anything else?” It was not a lie. Schanke, in his pre-vacation fidgets had somehow shorted the wiring.

“No, sir. Be careful.”

“I will. Good night.” With that, Knight floored the accelerator and the powerful car lunged back onto the road.

“It’s fifteen till,” Mulder said.

“I know,” Knight growled. He was counting on LaCroix to wait for them. After all, LaCroix wanted Mulder, not Scully. And he would much prefer to take retribution in person.

Restlessly tapping his fingertips against the dash, Mulder reached out and turned on the radio. His hand froze then slowly came away as LaCroix’s voice, cultured and softly confiding, whispered through the speakers. “Listen to him often?” he asked.

For a moment Knight did not respond. “It’s an old program. A rerun.”

“That must mean, ‘all the time.’” Mulder switched the radio off with more force than was strictly necessary. “But it also means—”

“He’s not on the air. Hang on.” Knight gunned the engine, covering the last mile at high speed, hoping all the while that nothing would dart out of the darkness into the road. Whipping the wheel round, he swerved onto an asphalt drive, accelerated again, then brought the car to a rocking, tire-smoking stop outside a low building fronted with shrubs and small trees. Just above the foliage, the letters CERK, formed in painted metal, were unmissable.

Knight caught Mulder’s arm before he could jump out of the car. “Stay with me,” he hissed. “Stay _behind_ me!”

“Let’s go!” Mulder demanded.

Together they loped toward the building. Knight realized there was nothing to be gained in attempting silence; LaCroix would have heard their approach long before their wheels hit the drive. The structure was familiar; he had been here before, some while back. The layout was fairly simple; it was, after all, a simple operation: A tiny reception area, a couple of rooms filled with equipment, the broadcasting suite, a single restroom, a closet, a storage room—all on one floor. He did not recall a basement, though his memory was not to be trusted regarding that one visit. His inspection had been cursory, that of a trained detective marking undefended exits.

“Where would they be?” Mulder asked.

“Let’s go round to the back.” The impulse to look at his watch was almost irresistible. Knight knew they had scant minutes to spare—but he was certain it was not midnight yet. He led the way, diving into the impenetrable shadow cast by a tall hedge. His vision, far superior to that of any human, allowed him to race ahead. Regardless, Mulder stayed with him, so close his warmth broadcast his status of prey.

All at once Knight was struck by a sense of dread and overwhelming urgency. He paused, head up, every sense stretched to its limit. Mulder, blind, plowed into him.

“Wha—?”

“Shh!” And then he understood what he was hearing, albeit almost subliminally, and his heart leapt into his throat. _“LaCroix!”_ he shouted. He acted without thought, breaking into a run, his coat streaming out behind him like a huge black pennant as he charged toward the small structure that was only now visible. It was attached to the back of the building, a slanted, enclosed entry which gave access to a cellar or basement.

“What is it?” Mulder cried.

Knight screamed, _“LaCroix, don’t!”_ His breath was wasted—it was not yet midnight, but they were too late. He knew that with certainty.

“Nick, please!”

“Stand back.” Knight did not wait to see if Mulder obeyed before wrenching one of the wide, heavy doors off its hinges. He plunged down a short flight of aged stairs, sweeping his gaze over the musty interior. The floor was hard-packed soil, the walls earth reinforced with an inconsistent mix of steel and wooden beams. Ancient boxes, overflowing with cloth-bound cables, linking equipment, and an array of vacuum tubes, cluttered the surprisingly large room. At its farthest end stood a heavy door; from beneath it glowed a thin strip of faint and flickering light.

Striding forward, Knight reached for the handle. Unlocked, the door came open with no resistance.

“Scully!” Mulder tried to crowd forward, but Knight held him back.

The other vampire was crouched at the opposite end of the room, the woman, Mulder's partner, unmoving in the crushing grip of his arms. Blood seeped from her wounded throat; her blue eyes stared at nothing. “You took so long to get here, Nicholas,” LaCroix chided. “I decided not to wait.”

A few feet away, the remains of a variety of crosses, cobbled together from scraggly strips of cardboard, long rusty nails, half-rotted wood, and tatters of cloth, formed what may have been a protective circle. The hard ground at its center displayed a shallow gouge; the mark of a frantically kicking heel, Knight thought. If she had put up a struggle, then LaCroix had lost control of the situation—either intentionally, in order to toy with her; or, because she had succeeded in outwitting him.

Scully’s eyes moved; slowly, as if with difficulty, they tracked toward Knight and Mulder. _She was still alive._ Knight said levelly, “Let her go, LaCroix.”

“Certainly.” Gently, almost reverently, the vampire laid her down; then he stood, wiping the blood from his mouth and licking the heel of his palm and the back of his hand until all traces were removed. “After all, you can’t save her—unless you bring her over. And that you never will do.” A dark, powerful figure, he towered over Scully. With an inviting sweep of the hand, he added, “So either you finish her—or I will.”

“Think about what you’re doing!” Knight said, a hint of desperation in his voice that was not entirely feigned. “They are _FBI agents_. Are you trying to destroy us?”

“So we move on. A change will do us good.”

“Change merely for the sake of change? That is the philosophy of a cancer cell.”

LaCroix shrugged. “Cancer does not concern me.” He glanced down at Scully, his gaze strangely benign. “Will you do it, or shall I?”

Thinking furiously, Knight argued, “Why should I?”

“Nick—!”

Knight held Mulder in place by force. “Give me a reason.”

“I’ll give you two,” LaCroix offered magnanimously. “She might prefer dying in your arms; _I_ seem to repel her. And perhaps—” He shot the human a look filled with loathing.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps I’ll allow _him_ to live a little longer.” He revealed sharp, white teeth. “Another year or two, I think. And all the while he would be aware that he had caused her death.”

“You murdering—!”

Knight rounded on the man behind him. The ferocity and unexpectedness of his attack left Mulder completely defenseless. He went down with a startled shout, landing hard enough to drive the wind out of him. Knight delivered a stunning blow to his chin to keep him down, then quickly rifled through his pockets and under his jacket until he was in possession of Mulder’s pistol. Tucking it into his waistband, Knight straightened.

“Mul-der,” Scully moaned. “Oh—Mulder.”

Grimly determined, Knight stepped toward her. “You shouldn’t have done this, LaCroix. _He_ didn’t kill your LA children.”

“No?”

“I have proof.”

Diverted briefly by Mulder’s whooping attempts to catch his breath, LaCroix murmured, “What sort of proof?”

“Police report.” Before LaCroix could voice his scorn, Knight continued, “Remember, none of the authorities investigating their deaths believed as Agent Mulder did that vampires were involved. They stated only facts.”

“I know the story, Nicholas,” LaCroix said. “It was, nevertheless, _his_ fault they died.”

“In fact,” Knight said, bluntly, “it was your _child’s_ inability to bring a mere woman over that allowed her to kill them all—including herself.”

“You’re telling me,” LaCroix placidly interpreted, “that _I_ failed?”

Knight dropped to his knees beside Scully. Deathly pale, she lacked the strength to object as he took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth. His lips glided across her palm to her wrist. The tell-tale rhythm of her heart was weak and thready. “I’m telling you that your child’s _stupidity_ caused them to die.” Behind him, he could hear Mulder struggling to reach his feet. “Do you really want to give this human credit for destroying your children? Do you really believe he deserves it?”

LaCroix regarded the human in question without sympathy. “Perhaps not,” he said disinterestedly. “But, then, does he deserve your protection?”

A tiny cry of protest escaped the woman. Befanged and yellow-eyed, Knight gathered her, light as a child, into his arms. He laid her across his lap, a hand on her bare thigh warning her to remain still. Her strength was no match for his under any circumstances; but if she tried to fight him now, she would certainly hasten her dying. Clad only in a short, lightweight tunic, she felt like ice even to his chill touch, and her every breath was labored. “It is enough that he has it.” Knight raised his head. “I want your word, LaCroix—I finish this and you will leave Mulder alone. Not just for a year or two, but for ever.”

“Nick—” Mulder croaked.

LaCroix tapped a finger against his lips, “Now, that sounds unsettlingly familiar,” he drawled. “You wouldn’t have duplicity in mind, would you, Nicholas?”

Caustically, Knight said, “You have left me so many alternatives.”

“That is true.” He scowled thoughtfully. “It is not like you to agree to kill. Is he so important to you?”

With sudden, savage anger, Knight shouted, “You should have left her alone!”

“Ah, but I didn’t.” LaCroix’s eyes narrowed; he looked like a basilisk contemplating a butterfly for breakfast. “‘Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice—’ Why can’t I trust you?”

“Distrust,” Knight said bleakly, “is what passes for honor among us.”

“Oh, Nicholas.” Unwilling affection, laced with contempt, informed each syllable. “All right. You have my word. But only if you get on with it _now_!”

Swallowing hard, Knight whispered, “I’m sorry, Agent Scully.” With soothing fingers he combed the hair away from her throat, exposing the two holes weeping blood. Dirty, clammy, and less than fragrant, she still excited the predator within him. “Messy, LaCroix,” he complained, and wiped a hand over the gore. Moistening his lips, he bent nearer.

“Nicholas,” the other vampire tsked. “You were not always so fastidious.”

A few feet away Mulder’s voice cracked. “What are you _doing!?_ ”

His words were obliterated by Scully’s sudden shriek, painfully high and uncontrolled. She wriggled frantically, then bucked as though besieged by whole-body spasms, restrained only by Knight’s implacable embrace.

“Nick, don’t—!”

“ _Stop it!_ ” Scully gasped. “Stop it, stop it, _please!_ ” The hand at her throat began to smoke, and Knight himself was abruptly racked with violent shudders.

Inundated with comprehension, LaCroix thundered, _“You are **mad!** ”_

“You give me no choice!” Face contorted with agony, Knight continued to overpower the woman until she went utterly limp, assuring him that the last vestiges of the vampire infection had been burned out of her. At that instant, he laid her down, the need to be conscientious producing a bloody sheen on his forehead. Only then did he allow himself to fall back against the earthen wall, extending his trembling, injured hand out away from his body.

Half-crawling, half-staggering, Mulder stumbled to Scully’s side. The terrible whimpering cries had faded, replaced by a pitiable, almost soundless weeping. “What did you do to her?” he demanded hoarsely, dragging his partner close and sheltering her against his chest. She clung to him, her face half hidden beneath his lapel.

LaCroix spat out, “He has made her a hunter!”

“I did as you wished.” Exhaling sharply, Knight turned his hand so that the palm was visible. “I finished it.” A tiny gold cross was embedded in charred and melted flesh.

At sight of it, Mulder searched his pocket. “You took Scully’s cross.”

“Pull it out, Mulder,” Knight grated. “Please.”

Gingerly, Mulder obeyed, flinching as strips of Knight’s skin sloughed off at his touch. He placed the cross in one of Scully’s hands. Her fingers curled convulsively around it, her knuckles gleaming skeletally white.

Shaking his head, LaCroix said damningly, “You are beyond belief, Nicholas.”

“You would have killed her to avenge a wrong _he_ didn’t commit.”

“And what you have done is insupportable. She is a _hunter!_ I should inform the Enforcers.”

“Which would lead them back to me—and you,” Knight pointed out. “Is that what you want?”

LaCroix’s eyes narrowed. “I could kill them now.”

“Including me?”

LaCroix snarled, “ _Especially_ you!” Then a raw laugh exploded from him. “You become more diabolical—in the worst possible sense!—with each passing decade. If you weren’t so obsessed with these mortals, we could have such _fun!_ “

“LaCroix—”

The other vampire raised an imperious hand. “Enough!” He swung toward Mulder. “Next time I will be more thorough.”

Mulder opened his mouth; before he could speak, Knight retorted, “Next time she’ll know you’re coming.”

“Do you think that will save them?” LaCroix asked silkily.

“No. You will. You promised.”

“I promised!” LaCroix hissed. _“Nicholas.”_ Knight’s name was pronounced with an inferno’s worth of condemnation. For a moment LaCroix stood silent, a dangerously intimidating presence. And then he smiled. “There are worse things than death.” With that he swung round and vanished from the room. Knight, his senses attuned to the passage of vampires, felt LaCroix’s departure into the night.

“Nick.”

His hand was taken into another’s grip; a careful fingertip traced the ridge of scarred but already healing tissue. “Nick,” Mulder implored, “we’ve got to get Scully to a doctor.”

“Of course,” he muttered. “Sorry.” Knight found himself the object of Mulder’s searching gaze. His hand was raised to the man’s mouth. For an instant, the vampire was the one held spellbound.

Scully, who had remained silent while Knight recovered, stirred against Mulder’s chest. Knight was released. “It’s okay, Scully,” Mulder assured her, tenderly stroking her hair. “Nick’s going to help us.” She blinked up at him, then twisted toward Knight, as though suddenly reminded that he was with them.

Nodding, Knight unsteadily climbed to his feet. “Believe him, Agent Scully.” He extricated the cell phone from his coat pocket. “I’ll have to go outside,” he said thickly. “Back in a couple of minutes.” It was not without difficulty that he withstood the urge to look back.

Balanced on a barstool in Natalie’s apartment, Knight tested the bandage on his hand then smiled gratefully up into the face of his closest human friend. “Thanks, Nat. Feels a lot better.”

“You must have held the cross a long time,” she commented, “for it to have burned so deeply.

“Or I’ve been backpedaling.”

Packing the remnants of gauze into her kitbag, she shook her head. “If so, you earned a bumper crop of points tonight.”

“Like saving-stamps?”

She ruffled his hair. “Something like that. I’ll be right back. I’m going to put this away.”

As she disappeared into the study, Knight cautiously took to his feet. He walked to the door of Natalie’s bedroom and peered inside. Backed by pillows and swathed in blankets, a watchful Scully waited, clearly having sensed his approach; Mulder, sitting on the edge of the bed, glanced round curiously.

“He’s not the enemy, Scully,” Mulder said.

“I am not.” Knight took a step into the room. “But you have a heightened awareness of me now, don’t you, Agent Scully?”

When Scully only stared darkly back at him and said nothing, Mulder asked, “Does he look different? Can you smell him? What?”

Her mouth pursed tightly. “It’s like—” A hand fluttered from breast to temple. “I don’t know—an electrical shock? I can’t really explain it.”

“What about LaCroix? After he bit you? Did it feel the sa—?”

Scully visibly withdrew. “Mulder—”

“It’s a painful experience, Agent Mulder,” Knight said mildly. “In more ways than one. Even after eight hundred years, I have not forgotten.”

“But he didn’t— She won’t become—?”

“Tell your partner what you felt when I placed the cross on your neck,” Knight suggested.

Some of the tension seemed to flow out of her. “It felt like acid. I thought you were killing me.” She fell quiet. “And when he went away—LaCroix, I mean—it seemed as though a weight was lifted from my chest. I could breathe again.”

“He is a very powerful vampire.” Knight said wryly. “ _I_ don’t do that to you, do I?”

Sighing, Scully gave her head a shake. “No, you don’t.”

“Agent Scully—I know this is difficult for you, and I am sorry,” Knight said sincerely. “I made the decision that you would live. I believed it was the right one.”

“It was,” Mulder said.

A slow smile touched the corners of Scully’s mouth. She nodded. “He’s right. It’s just this is all so weird, impossible—” Her bruised shoulders jerked in an attenuated shrug. “But, yes, you made the right choice. I do thank you, Detective Knight.” 

Natalie came up close behind him. “Nick. It must be almost dawn.”

“I know.” He slung an arm round her, reveling in the warmth of her cheek against his. “Thanks, Nat. You’ve—”

“Don’t say it,” she said with feigned brusqueness. “What’s an illegal transfusion now and again?”

He kissed the top of her head. “A great deal.”

Patting his back, she self-consciously slipped from his embrace. To Scully she announced, “I just got the results of your latest CBC. You’re making a remarkable recovery, you know.”

“That’s reassuring,” Scully murmured dryly. Then she wondered out loud, “Because of what you did, Detective Knight?”

“Nick. Partly. And partly because you were healthy to begin with.” Knight licked his lips and glanced nervously toward the door. “I must go.”

“You’d better drive him, Mulder.” Scully’s words drew a startled look from her partner. She explained, “Unless he’s only going across the street, he won’t get there in time.”

Knight smiled to himself. Mulder went to the window and peeked through the blinds. A thin shaft of rosy light fell across his shoes. “You’re right.”

“But before you go, would you bring my bag?” she asked. “You do have it?”

“It’s in the Caddy.” Hands in his pockets, Mulder gave her a critical once-over. “Natalie said you’re supposed to rest.”

“I will. Just want to make a few notes.”

“For your report, Agent Scully?” Knight asked.

“If I filed an official report, nobody would believe me,” she replied pragmatically. “I’ll leave it to Mulder to concoct some explanation for our AD. I just want to—organize my thoughts.”

Walking up to Knight, hand outstretched, Mulder waited until the keys to the Cadillac were plopped into his open palm. “Don’t think my imagination’s that good, Scully.”

Natalie gave Knight’s shoulder a nudge. “I have some calls to make. Say good-bye before you leave.”

“Of course.”

Knight stood unobtrusively silent until he heard the dial tone two rooms away. Only then did he approach the bed. “You wanted to talk to me alone?”

“It’s worse when you’re closer,” she observed a little shakily.

“Sorry.” At once he started to move away, but stopped when Scully brought up a hand. She said apologetically, “I should have said ‘more intense.’ I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You weren’t.”

Scully said, “I see you as Mulder can’t. I _know_ what you are in a way that he never will.” She hesitated; then, with sudden resolve, went on, “And I sense other things.”

Knight’s stony expression was not encouraging.

“He’s a big boy and can look after himself,” she conceded, “—usually. And I don’t think you would willingly harm him. Just—just make sure that you don’t?”

Had he been blessed with the blood volume of a mortal, Knight suspected he might blush. “Does he know how you feel about him?”

She smiled for the first time without reserve. “He’s my partner. And my friend. We look out for each other.”

With simple candor, Knight said, “He will never come to harm from me.”

“I have to believe that,” she said. “You’ve saved my live twice now.” At his acute look, she acknowledged, “I remember now. And even though what I _feel_ tells me that you are dangerous, what I _know_ tells me that you are not.”

Footsteps sounded at the apartment door. Knight said somberly, “Stay on your guard, Agent Scully. I hope I’ve changed LaCroix’s mind about Mulder. But he does not relinquish a grudge readily.” He lightly touched the bandage at her throat. “And of course now you are a hunter.”

“Because I can sense you—vampires? That makes me a hunter?”

“Yes.”

She said firmly, “I have more important things to do!”

“I know that. But LaCroix may never believe it.”

Mulder walked into the door carrying Scully’s case. He set it on the edge of the bed and began to undo the straps. “He’ll try again, then?”

“I hope not. But he’s unpredictable—and his word means nothing.”

“Great.” Mulder lifted the laptop out of the case. He handed it to Scully, then helped to arrange it on the bedcovers. “But she’ll always know if he’s around, right?”

“As easily as she can sense _me_ , she will have _no_ difficulty with LaCroix, that’s true.”

Carrying a mug brimming with warm milk, Natalie carefully entered the room. “Drink this, Dana. And then you can tell me what you want to eat.”

“I’m not very hungry.” Scully grimaced expressively.

“We’ll come up with something.” She kept a steadying hand on the mug as Scully took a tiny sip.

“Will you be able to stay here until I get back?” Mulder asked.

“Yes. All day. She’ll be fine.”

“Don’t worry, Mulder.” Knight started for the door. “LaCroix, more than most of us, is a creature of the night. Nat, if you need anything—”

“I’ll call.” She smiled her reassurance. “Time you went home, Nick.”

“Past time.” He glanced over his shoulder at Scully and caught her staring at him, disquieted. “It’ll be all right,” he said obliquely. “I promise.”

They went out through the west door where the sun had yet to purge the darkness. Mulder had moved the car to the curb just outside. He strode up to the trunk and keyed it open. Making certain no one was around, he gestured for Knight to leave the building. He closed him inside the trunk then took the wheel of the Cadillac to drive them to Knight’s home, stopping once, just long enough to pick up breakfast, at an all-night cafe.

Once inside the sanctuary of the garage, Mulder opened the trunk lid and held it up while Knight vaulted out. “You’re certain she’ll be safe with Natalie?”

“LaCroix will take his anger out on me before he bothers with either of you.”

“Positive?”

Knight gave a weary sigh. “There is nothing certain in this world—as you well know.” He wrinkled his nose. “What is that?”

Raising a plastic cup and a small paper bag, Mulder answered, “Breakfast. For me.”

“Certainly not for me.” Heavy feet bore Knight to the door to the lift. Mulder walked inside with him. Activating the motor, Knight leaned back against the cab wall. “Thought you were going back to Natalie’s.”

“Not right away.” Lifting the cup to his lips, Mulder sampled his coffee through a narrow slit in the plastic lid. “Tell me about hunters.”

The elevator lurched to a stop. Knight pulled the door open and stepped into the loft. “There aren’t very many of them these days—especially in this part of the world.”

“Because vampires kill them?”

“Sometimes. Mostly because of lack of faith.”

“Faith.” Mulder sidled toward the chair in the living room. “All right if I eat here?”

Lumbering to a stop in front of the refrigerator, Knight took hold of the handle and gave it a jerk. “Don’t recall your asking before.” He selected two bottles and carried them to the sofa. Slouching amidst the cushions, legs stretched out on the coffee table before him, he pried the cork from one and raised the smooth rim to his mouth. When the first gulps were settled inside him, he said, “You don’t believe in God, do you?” A sock-encased toe nudged the remotes to within Mulder’s reach. Mulder took the hint. Within seconds darkness replaced the embryonic light of dawn. A moment later, flames leapt up in the fireplace. Soon a gentle heat pervaded the room.

Unwrapping his sandwich, Mulder muttered, “Not really, no. Certainly not in an omnipotent entity that gives a rat’s patootie about what happens to any of us.”

“Agent Scully does.”

“That’s true,” Mulder said with a hint of chagrin. Several emotions raced across his features in quick succession. “So are you telling me there _is_ a God?”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

Mulder’s dismay was nearly palpable. “I don’t know.”

“I was talking about faith,” Knight reminded him. “Once it has been nurtured long enough, it becomes instinctive. She knew what I intended, even if she was unaware of the specifics.”

Mulder stared at him. “Yeah?”

“She saw the cross before I placed it against her wounds.”

“Oh.” Mulder’s sandwich cooled as he thought this over. He inhaled sharply. “I still don’t understand why she changed.”

“You heard what LaCroix said?”

“Hm—” Mulder delicately probed at the darkening bruise on his jaw. “Sometimes the signal was a little weak.”

“Sorry. You know I had to do that?”

“I’ll live. But which bit did you mean?”

“That I could kill her or bring her over? Those were my only options?”

A trace of anger compressed Mulder’s lips. “Yeah. He did it so you couldn’t ‘trick’ him this time.”

Taking a pull from the bottle, Knight welcomed the thick, rich blood sluicing down his throat. He was ravenous. “So he said. But I doubt that he intended to take things that far. Remember, Mulder: He wanted _you_. Unless some day your Scully decides to tell us what went on while she was held captive, we may never know the truth.”

About to take a bite, Mulder faltered. “‘Went on?’”

“You saw all the makeshift crosses arranged in a protective circle. Believe it or not that would have slowed LaCroix down. Very likely, it enraged him.”

“Goaded him into attacking, is that what you’re saying?”

“We arrived in time. It wasn’t midnight yet. I think she might have come close to getting away. He has a hair-trigger temper.”

“That bastard.”

Knight finished the first bottle and opened the second. He would need a third. “Because of what happens when a vampire bites, she was at a crossroads.”

“Yeah?”

“Left untended, she would have died—LaCroix had taken too much. Had she been fed the blood of a vampire, she would have become one herself.”

“Seriously?” Mulder seemed not to have considered the possibility.

“Seriously. On the other hand, a half-drained mortal sometimes can be saved if the mark of the vampire is treated at the earliest possible moment with something sanctified.”

“Something like Scully’s cross?”

“Yes.”

“But how did it _change_ her?” Mulder doggedly bit into his sandwich. “Why does she know when you’re around, even when she can’t see or hear you?” His Adam’s apple bobbed, once, twice—Knight made himself look away.

Incautiously, he replied, “Because she was tainted by LaCroix’s bite.”

_“Tainted!”_

“Think of it in terms of—say—a mosquito bite. It—”

_“Mosquito bite!”_

“Calm down, Mulder. The bite itself introduces something foreign into the body. Mainly, it encourages the blood to flow freely. But that same agent becomes a catalyst if the victim is fed vampire blood. Placing Agent Scully’s cross against the wound eradicated the vampire itself—but that agent remains, though in a modified form.”

“What form?” Mulder sounded sick.

“Because it came from a vampire, it has given her some of those characteristics. She will be sensitive to light—” Mulder groaned loudly. “Not like I am. But it will affect her.” He added sardonically, “Sunblock will help.”

“What else?”

“She’ll know instantly if there’s a vampire around. Any vampire.”

“And?”

”That’s it.”

“That’s it? Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

Relief removed some of the tension from Mulder’s face. “That’s workable.” Sudden doubt made him frown; he swallowed hard. “Why was LaCroix so ticked off, then?”

Knight smiled indulgently. “ _We_ can’t sense _her_. She can move about with comparative freedom in daylight. Do you understand now?”

“So that if she wanted to go after you, she’d have an advantage.”

“A significant advantage. And most people would believe that vampires—if they believed in such creatures—should be hunted down and destroyed.”

“Okay. But there’s nothing about what you did to her that would _make_ her want to hunt you down, is there?”

“Not intrinsically, no.” Knight spent a few moments savoring the contents of the second bottle. His body was slowly recovering; the hunger clamored less urgently—and Agent Mulder’s throat no longer commanded his attention. “It will depend upon her sense of moral duty. She may feel obligated to act—to retaliate.”

“Not Scully. Maybe, if you were a threat, but—”

“Most of us are not. Most of us have learned to cohabit with mortals. Modern technology and increasing populations are forcing us to adapt.”

“Except the ones like LaCroix.”

“He was a Roman General,” he said reflectively. “I don’t think he can change.”

“Despite what you say, you like him, don’t you?” There was no eluding the disappointment in Mulder’s voice.

Knight licked the rim of the bottle, then tilted his head back until the last drops of blood were on his tongue. “It’s complicated.” He went to the kitchen; upon his return, he was not empty-handed.

The two men fell silent. Knight drank blood while Mulder sipped coffee. The room continued to warm and Knight grew pleasantly drowsy. Mulder removed his coat and jacket, then resumed his boneless sprawl. When the drained bottle would have slipped from Knight’s hand, he roused himself enough to set it carefully on the table behind the sofa, in line with the other two.

“I owe you,” Mulder said without preamble. “A lot.” He sat forward all at once, his long fingers spread wide. “If there’s ever anything—”

“You owe me nothing.” His peace shattered, Knight rose and began to collect empty containers. He took them to the waste can next to the kitchen island.

“Nothing?”

Knight flashed a grim smile over his shoulder. “Nothing.” One after the other, the bottles clunked to the floor of the can.

His voice a husky whisper, Mulder said, “If that’s what you want, I—I don’t mind.”

Standing motionless, Knight let the air flow silently out of his lungs. “I haven’t asked for _anything_.” He heard the crumpling of the fast food paper bag, then the scrape of Mulder’s shoes upon the wood floor.

“And you won’t.” Mulder’s halting tread betrayed his hesitation. “But I can tell. And, well, it’s okay.”

Turning round, Knight stopped him with a look. Casually, he held the flap of the waste can open. “Your offer is very generous, Agent Mulder. But I believe you are unaware of your reason for making it.”

“Reason? It’s what you wa—”

“I am a vampire. Wanting is the core of my being. But unless you make a habit of offering yourself to everyone who helps you—”

Color suffused Mulder’s cheeks. “Only the ones who’ve been _really_ helpful.”

Knight pried the trash from Mulder’s hand and pushed it through the mouth of the bin. “—I would suggest that you’ve been influenced by what I did to you before.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rape,” Knight said clinically, “is not a gentle undertaking. Something of my—” His composure notwithstanding, inwardly he shrank from his own words. “—essence must have been absorbed by your system. Less detrimental than the agent LaCroix left in your partner, but not dissimilar.”

Dubious, Mulder pursed his lips. “More vampire voodoo, huh?”

“As good an explanation as any. And the only logical one,” Knight emphasized.

For a moment, Mulder’s lashes hid his gaze. Then he nodded, as if to himself. Shrugging, he murmured, “Yeah, okay. But I’m still in your debt. And if you ever want anything—booty duty included—it’s yours.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “And, besides, I’d probably enjoy it.”

“Mulder—”

With good-natured grace, Mulder signaled defeat and ambled back to the sofa. Knight, nonplussed, went to the refrigerator and stared for a long moment at its contents, seeing nothing. He was aware of Mulder heeling off his shoes, then lying back and unbuttoning his shirt. The soft sigh as he linked his hands together at his waist was clearly audible, as was the rustle of fabric as he arranged his head against the arm of the sofa.

Knight trembled. What he had told Mulder, he himself believed. The act of taking him without feeding had left a deep, unsatisfied ache, one which Knight had learned to live with and to quell to some degree. He had assumed something similar to be true of Mulder; that he had been affected by whatever transmission of fluids may have occurred. But it had _not_ occurred to him that Mulder might simply _want_ him. Even knowing the truth. He reached out and grabbed a bottle at random. It was cold, always cold. An image of Mulder drenched in gleaming scarlet, writhing in passion, made him dizzy. _Mulder’s_ blood would be _warm_.

The neck of the bottle cracked. Knight fumbled for a container in the cupboard before the precious fluid could spill. He poured it with jerky movements into a long-stemmed wine glass, the first that had come to hand, spattering a little on his thumb and wrist. Licking it off, he scowled.

Yielding to an impulse he rarely acknowledged, Knight placed the glass in the microwave and set the timer. Scant seconds later, he took it out, dipped a finger into the liquid, and tested it. _Much better._

Mulder lay quiet, his feet sticking out past the end of the sofa, which was too short to accommodate the considerable length of his legs. Silently, Knight crossed the room. He should not do this. It was too risky. He must _not—_

Sleepily Mulder scratched the tip of his nose. Then he stilled. His eyes opened and he looked straight up and into Knight’s face. Calmly he said, “Changed your mind?”

Speech failed him. Knight stared hungrily down at the man, unaware that everything he felt was displayed on his face.

“Whatever you want, Nick.”

Swallowing a moan, Knight eased himself down on one knee. His need was too great, his urgency at flashpoint. Yet he slid a hand inside Mulder’s shirt, his nearly healed palm warming instantly even through the light bandage. Sensation threatened to overwhelm him. Controlling himself with some effort, he whispered, “Forgive me.”

“It’s okay.” Mulder was breathing shallowly and his eyes were overly wide; considering that Knight had already taken on the aspect of the vampire, the man’s reaction was impressively restrained.

Tilting the glass, Knight watched the first drops of blood spill over the rim and land on Mulder’s skin. Shakily, he drew a broad line, brilliantly red, from the top of his sternum to a spot an inch above the waistband of dark brown trousers. And then he leaned forward and began to lick it off. Mulder gasped. In broad, famished swaths, Knight worked his way upward, going so far as Mulder’s throat. There, he sucked carefully at the carotid artery, his teeth just brushing against the fragile skin where the blood vessel was most palpable. One-handed, he undid Mulder’s belt and trousers; and one-handed, he shoved the confining fabric off Mulder’s hips. In his efforts, he roughly swept a hand across the man’s genitals. The resulting moan was not one of pain.

Abruptly, Knight abandoned Mulder’s throat, not daring to tempt himself longer. He tipped the glass over one nipple, angling his fingers against the lean ribcage to keep any of the liquid from escaping. Then he closed his mouth on blood and skin, relishing the shape and substance of turgid flesh, which grew harder with each stroke of his tongue. Exclaiming unintelligibly, Mulder arched up to meet him. There came a quiet plop as his clothing slid off his legs and tumbled onto the floor.

Knight’s head was swimming. Scarcely able to think, he set the glass down. Without effort, he rose up and flipped Mulder onto his belly. A moment later, his own belt unbuckled and his trousers bunched around his knees, Knight crowded forward against Mulder’s thighs, forcing his legs apart. He took up the glass and doused him from the nape of the long neck to the lowest point between sharply outlined shoulder blades. Mulder’s breathing grew more ragged. Bracing himself on one bony hip, Knight pushed into human warmth. Mulder yelped, but Knight was beyond hearing him. _Human heat, burning him, surrounding him; living flesh, willingly yielding—_ Downy buttocks fit perfectly against his groin. Bending forward, Knight inhaled the oversweet odor of blood underlaid with the more compelling scent of the man. Growling deep in his throat, he rocked his hips, slowly at first, letting the pleasure build. Control was a tenuous thing, and as he started to move faster, insides fusing, it became more tenuous still. Each stroke sent shards of sensation ripping through his insides, pervading his entire body with a rare, glorious heat, as well as a treacherous hunger. When Mulder pushed back to meet him, matching his rhythm, Knight could hold out no longer. Lowering his mouth to the blood-soaked spine, he noisily began to feast.

Firelight cast an orange glow on the otherwise unlighted room. The two men lay together on the hearth rug, Mulder on his back, an arm crooked behind his head in place of a pillow, Knight stretched out along his side, his head resting on Mulder’s chest. His ear was filled with the beat of the man’s heart. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be contented; to be, in fact, _happy_.

Something, however, must be said. “You are too trusting, Agent Mulder,” Knight advised him regretfully.

“That’s not what Scully says. And, anyway, it doesn’t apply to you.”

“Really?”

“In case you missed it, I trust you with my life.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Too late.” Sifting through Knight’s hair with gentle fingers, Mulder said, “Scully would probably—”

Knight interrupted, “She knows.”

“Knows?”

“About us. This.”

Mulder said faintly, “She _knows_?“

Smiling to himself at the sharply increased heartbeat, Knight replied, “She warned me not to hurt you.”

“How—?”

“Said she could sense it.”

“Did it—was she upset?”

“Concerned.”

Shockingly, Mulder began to laugh. “She’s something, Scully. God!”

“Yes, she is.”

“Thanks for the update,” Mulder said tartly. Then, with studied indifference, he asked, “And what about your ME? You like her, don’t you?”

Simply the thought of Natalie made Knight’s blood quicken. “Much more than ‘like.’”

“You could try this with her, couldn’t you?”

Aghast, Knight shook his head. “She would be repulsed.”

“She knows what you are,” Mulder argued. “She’d understand.”

“I couldn’t—”

“What?”

“I couldn’t risk it. I dare not.”

Mulder shifted his touch to Knight’s neck, commencing a quieting massage. “You’re afraid that you wouldn’t be able to control yourself?”

“Before you, I would never have imagined this possible.”

“Having sex? I thought that was at the top of the vampire charts.”

“Having sex with a mortal,” Knight corrected him.

“Hm. Without killing, you mean?”

Staring into the flames, Knight replied, “Yes. I must feed. And she would be disgusted.”

Mulder rocked with soundless laughter. “I’m not.”

“You’re a man.”

“And she’s a doctor,” Mulder reminded him. He thought about it a moment. “Okay. So maybe it’s a guy thing.”

Despite himself, Knight was amused. While sex in general might be categorized “a guy thing,” sex with a vampire likely would not. With the tip of a finger, he traced the ridges of Mulder’s ribcage. “And what about you and Agent Scully?”

“Scully?” Mulder’s hands briefly ceased their steady occupation. “She is the most important person in the world to me,” he admitted. “But it would be a mistake— We couldn't—”

“You see?” Knight said lightly.

“It’s not the same.”

“But impossible nonethe—” The phone rang, startling them both. Knight rolled over and leapt up. He strode across the room and scooped up the handset. “Knight.” Brows elevated, he glanced sidelong at Mulder. “Hello, Agent Scully. Mulder? Yes, I’ll get him for you.” Knight waited while Mulder scrambled to his feet and bounded unconcernedly nude to his side.

“Hey, Scully, how are you feeling?”

As Mulder spoke, Knight paid a visit to the bathroom. There he splashed water on his face and ran a comb through his hair. Mulder was hanging up the phone when he returned.

“She’s fine,” Mulder said in answer to his querying look. “We’re scheduled on a midnight flight to DC. Natalie’s catching a few winks, and Scully’s going to take a nap. So—” he concluded reasonably, “we’ve got about ten hours. If you’re thirsty.”

“Only five—I have to work tonight.” Knight skimmed his hands down Mulder’s shoulders and arms, mapping the terrain of his body from chest to thigh as he lowered himself before him. Cupping his buttocks and thereby holding him in place, he angled his head to capture then engulf the tip of his cock. Unhurriedly, he began to suck. “Nick,” Mulder said nervously. Knight’s hands traveled back up Mulder’s chest and took each nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Nick—!” Flicking the nubs lightly, Knight continued to suckle. “Nick!” Mulder pleaded, holding Knight’s head in place and helplessly beginning to thrust into his mouth. “Is this safe?!”

Twisting free with a snakelike motion, Knight stared up at the other man. With a wicked grin, he asked, “For you or me?”

Staggering a little, Mulder said, “If you wanted something to drink, you just had to ask.”

“I want—” Knight leaned forward and played his tongue around the weeping tip of Mulder’s lengthening erection. “—something—” He mouthed the entire and not inconsiderable length of him, provoking a magnificent groan from the deepest depths of Mulder’s chest. “—to drink.” And then he released him.

“Oh, God,” Mulder whimpered. He leaned bonelessly against the table. “That was cruel.”

Returning to the warmth of the hearth, Knight sat on the rug and then rested back on his elbows. He allowed his legs to fall apart. “So hurry back, and I’ll try to make it up to you.”

The significance of his pose gradually registered on Mulder’s face. “Oh. _Oh_.” He held a finger up. “One bottle of ‘bovino’ coming up.” He swung round and strode to the refrigerator. Under his breath, he added, “Along with something else.”

Filled with a sense of uncomplicated anticipation, Knight realized that for eight hundred years, making love with a mortal had equated death. At this moment, with Mulder, that was no longer the case. In fact, at this moment, he could pretend, however briefly, that he had regained his mortality. And if he weren’t careful, he might even put on some weight.

“Two coffees.” Knight pulled a couple of bills out of his pocket and set them on the counter. He was ambushed by a yawn just as change and two cups were placed before him. Blinking apologetically, he murmured, “Thanks.” On his way out of the kiosk, he remembered the need for tubs of milk and packets of sugar, having no certain idea how either agent drank their coffee.

Two pairs of eyes were on him as he came down the midway. Agent Scully, though leaning heavily on her partner, was wide awake. A slight frown creased her brow as she recognized Knight. But her eyes darted away, and suddenly she began to scour the interior of the terminal, including its ceiling. Only then did Knight feel the other’s presence, and placed him, though as yet unseen, at the very instant that Scully did. Mulder, who was half asleep himself, alerted at Scully’s sudden apprehension. He sighted Knight and tried to reassure her. But she was staring in another direction. Knight walked up to them and handed over the coffees and assortment of additives.

“It’s LaCroix, isn’t it?” Scully said. Her voice was steady, but Knight sensed the bone-deep trepidation in her.

“Yes, I think so. Don’t worry. He won’t attempt anything here.”

“There he is,” Scully breathed.

Aware exactly where LaCroix was, Knight did not bother to look round. “I’ll be right back.”

“Nick—”

“Stay here, Mulder,” Knight ordered.

LaCroix stood at the far end of the nearly deserted concourse—and he had not come through Security. Affecting nonchalance, Knight strolled up to meet him, cocking half an ear at the loudspeaker’s boarding announcement. He hoped that he had not lied about LaCroix’s intentions. His day had been spent in pursuits other than sleep, and he had been on duty since six. After helping Natalie contrive an explanation regarding LaCroix’s victims for her reports, he had attended to neglected paperwork until it was time—with O’Hara’s permission—to collect Mulder and Scully to ferry them to the airport. He was in no condition to deal with an outraged vampire of LaCroix’s years and power.

Not surprisingly, he was met with an aggrieved glare. “Did you see that? Rarely do hunters gain their potential so swiftly.”

“Considering what they’re up against, it can’t be a bad thing.”

“Nicholas,” LaCroix said reprovingly.

“They aren’t a threat, LaCroix.”

Blue eyes intent upon Scully, LaCroix drawled, “You believe that, don’t you? You really do.” He struck off without inviting Knight’s company. Knight was forced to take a skipping step to catch up.

They arrived at the seating area together. Mulder stood waiting for them; Scully remained in her chair, her expression watchful.

“I knew where you were from the instant you landed on the roof,” she told LaCroix.

He studied her for a long moment, seeing, Knight knew, the pallid features, the bruising under her eyes, even the internal tremor that she tried so hard to conceal. LaCroix smiled charmingly, casting a meaningful glance in Mulder’s direction. “He, however, did not.”

“Don’t threaten him,” Scully stated coldly, her voice clear and calm. “You leave me and mine alone, and I’ll leave you—and yours—alone.”

Silently Knight applauded her nerve. There were times even he had difficulty meeting that glittering scrutiny without flinching.

“Hm.” Casually, LaCroix took the empty seat next to Scully. Hands loosely clasped between his knees, he turned his head toward her. Mulder gathered himself to move, but Knight stalled him with a shake of the head. “Such an arrangement is unheard of,” LaCroix remarked and leaned a little nearer. Scully, for her part, held her ground, though she was uncharacteristically strained. His voice impassioned, LaCroix said, “I should have brought you across. You are much stronger than I realized.”

“You almost killed her,” Mulder said angrily.

“Had I wanted her dead,” LaCroix murmured, “she would be.”

“Like those other women?”

“Exactly like them.” The loudspeaker blared. Ticket-holders, it announced, could begin final boarding. “That is your flight, yes?”

“Yes,” Scully whispered.

“Good. You are looking very pale, Agent Scully. A lengthy rest should serve you well.”

“She’ll be fine.” Mulder was bristling; he hovered, fists clenched.

“I expect she will,” LaCroix agreed with unexpected mildness. “As I said, such an arrangement is unheard of. But times change.” With courtly gentility, he took Scully’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. “Perhaps there can be detente.”

“ _We_ can co-exist peacefully?” Scully asked. Knight regarded his former master with equal skepticism. He had heard nothing like this from him before, and wondered what he was up to.

“As can the lion and the sheep,” LaCroix replied smoothly. He softly kissed her hand, let it go, and assumed his most disarming demeanor. “So long, of course, as the lion remains well fed.”

“And so long,” Scully amended ruefully, “as the lion isn’t deranged.”

LaCroix’s eyes twinkled. “Precisely.”

“C’mon, Scully, that’s us.” Mulder interposed himself between her and the vampire, who seemed merely amused. Scully managed to stand on her own, but it was apparent to Knight that he and LaCroix were oppressing her by their very presence. Mulder said, “Nick—thank you.”

“Take care, Mulder—Agent Scully.” For an instant he was reminded of a woman he had known centuries before. She too had been filled with a rare personal strength. “Courage,” he breathed.

Scully’s head came round; a normal human would not have heard him. The question in her eyes turned to comprehension. “Thank you,” she said. Allowing Mulder to escort her to the ramp, she continued to glance back at the two vampires every few steps. As he handed over their tickets, Mulder half-turned and saluted Knight with a tip of the head. Knight responded in kind. An instant later, they were gone.

“Some day I may tell her how you and Agent Mulder spent your day,” LaCroix said mildly, rising to stand alongside him.

“It would make no difference,” Knight assured him.

“Really? A pity.” LaCroix folded his arms across his chest. “They are dangerous, you know.”

“If you truly believed that, where are the Enforcers?”

“Possibly contemplating your demise even now,” LaCroix said smartly. Then he sighed. “Ah, Nicholas—you tread a very thin line sometimes.”

A few minutes later, both unspeaking, they watched the ramp withdraw from the plane through the great window. Lights flashing, it slowly rolled backwards into the darkness. At the same time, a lazy smile began to curve across LaCroix’s face. Alarmed, Knight glanced from the vampire to the aircraft, wondering what he could have missed. Had LaCroix planted an assassin? It would have to be human; Scully would have sensed another—

“Stop worrying,” LaCroix said placatingly. “They are all right for the moment.”

“You were smiling.”

“Yes.” He favored Knight with a conspiratorial look. “Sometimes a good challenge is better than the best kill.” Pushing his hands into his pockets, LaCroix winked at him. “Good night, Nicholas.” Humming quietly to himself, he sauntered away.

Alone and vaguely uneasy, Knight turned to watch the plane taxi away from the terminal. When it was no longer in view, he exhaled out loud. It was best that they were gone, though he would miss Mulder more than he liked to admit. Smothering another yawn, Knight headed for the car park level. Tomorrow he would sleep like the dead. Allowing himself a slow, ironic grin, he inconspicuously adjusted his trousers.

And he would not need to feed for a week.

End

_For Carol and Jo Ann, June 1997_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 1997, under pseud Ellis Ward


End file.
